as thou wilt
by Nagia
Summary: Kanryuu Takeda wants a matched set: one haughty, reserved, experienced. One youthful, fresh, and exuberant. The only problem? Aoshi's pretty sure he's seen Kanryuu's other adept before. Kanryuu/Aoshi, Aoshi/Misao. Kushiel's Legacy fusion.


The courtyard and front hall of Orchis House are only like Dahlia in their grandeur. In substance, they're entirely different. Dahlia decorates exclusively in white and gold, with occasional touches of deep burgundy to add richness; Orchis seems a riot of gold, butter yellow, pastel saffron, and sunset orange: all colors of the sun, descending from the ceiling. A trio of adepts pass by on the way to an assignation, mouths curved up and eyes glinting. One of them laughs with a beautiful, tinkling merriment that bounces off the walls and turns heads.

Aoshi does not look. In Dahlia, adepts would be censured for such a lack of decorum. He might concede that today is not a day for decorum — strange as today is — but he cannot be other than his nature.

How strange, to be so preferred by a patron that he be contracted for an engagement in another House entirely.

Kanryuu Takeda tries to throw a companionable arm over his shoulder. Aoshi allows it, but does not reciprocate or welcome him. "Not even a little tempted? When the Dowayne sends us a selection, shall I let you choose?"

Aoshi does not roll his eyes.

"If you wish," he says. He does not mention that he will offer no opinion unasked and will have no real preference. For an adept to prefer one liason over another would be unseemly.

Takeda laughs. The sound is neither as merry nor as calculatedly beautiful as that of the Orchis adept. Aoshi wishes he had declined the assignation.

* * *

The Dowaine calls for a select assortment of female adepts. She looks amused by Takeda's assertion that he doesn't care in the least about coloring or age — what he seeks is temperament and talent. But considering the House she administers, Aoshi supposes she often looks amused. Or irritated; Orchis and Eglantine both can be an unruly bunch.

It is likely not an accident that of the five women she calls for, three have dark hair and all are light-eyed.

Takeda laughs as though delighted. "Oh, shall I have a matched set?"

A confident smile curves along the lips of the tallest dark haired woman.

But as Takeda surveys the assembled adepts, his lips curl down into the pout Aoshi has learned to recognize. That expression means Takeda is about to say something absolutely awful, and it's going to take every ounce of dignity and self-control not to react inappropriately.

"Oh my, oh my," he says, and the Dowayne raises a sardonic brow, as if to wonder what could possibly displease him. In answer to the Dowayne's silent question, Takeda tells the room: "I'm just not seeing the contrast I'm looking for."

"Contrast?" A short, curvy blonde asks. She cocks a hip and curls a smile at him.

"I want youthful merriment to counter Aoshi's... experience."

He's just been called old. This entire room has just been called old. Aoshi recognizes dimly that for any other adept, this would the worst moment in their darkest nightmare: not only has he been publically insulted by his patron, his patron has passed on the insult.

The Dowayne shoots Aoshi a shocked look. She motions almost invisibly to her Second, who moves forward with a sheaf of paper and a wet pen. If such acts are outside his contract, they'll write the Dowayne of Dahlia House immediately with the news of the obvious ill-treatment.

Aoshi shakes his head. He's not fond of Takeda, but assignations with the man are useful.

"I'll have our newest adept summoned at once," the Dowayne says with all the dignity of a person who is forcibly restraining herself from having someone thrown out. She takes a deep breath — probably thinking about the money involved — and finishes the thought. "She hasn't made her formal debut yet. But I am willing, this once, to pre-arrange a contract."

Takeda's frown begins to soften. He does so love to receive license others wouldn't.

"Provided _she's_willing," the Dowayne adds. The insult is subtle but most certainly present, and almost delicious.

Takeda doesn't register it. "Tell me about her."

The Dowayne motions to the Second, who hurries from the room. "She was raised in Dahlia House, but her temperament made it clear very early on that we would be interested in her marque."

And Aoshi thinks back to the bright-eyed girl-child whose lips seemed to curve naturally into a smile. She'd always been smiling or laughing, unless she'd been chastised. He hasn't seen her on the grounds of Dahlia in eight years — she's certainly of an age to debut, if her marque were sold to Orchis.

"And her build?"

"Short and athletic. She attended lessons in Eglantine house." A pause, and the Dowayne's mouth shapes a smug smile. "Now she teaches the younger children of our own house to turn handsprings and cartwheels. Enough to make them giggle, you see."

"What," Takeda asks, "of her coloring?"

The Dowayne indicates Aoshi. "As you've chosen already."

He's still thinking Not Misao before the Second opens the door again. A merry, excited laugh tumbles in from the hall, followed by a barefoot young woman in a simple blue gown. She clutches a scrap of foolscap in one hand and her boots in the other. Blue-black hair tumbles down her back in a hasty braid, framing her face in fringe and flyaway strands.

"The Second will have his jest," she says, with a tone amusement that borders irritation.

The Dowayne rolls her eyes skyward. "Not everything in this House is a jest, Misao."

Misao's gaze flicks from the Second to the Dowayne, and then to the assembled adepts. Then her gaze falls on him. He watches her eyes widen in recognition, watches the barest hint of a flush stain her cheeks.

He forces himself to give no sign that he knows her, to trail his gaze lightly over her as if measuring up a potential rival.

Misao Makimachi, born to Dahlia and sold to Eglantine, picks up the cue immediately. She looks him up and down much more obviously and gives him a sunny smile. The expression is impossibly radiant, somehow compressing a season's worth of joy into the light curve of her lips. No potential rivalry here; Misao has never been good at pretending antipathy.

Then she turns to Kanryuu.

Aoshi knows the precise moment Kanryuu decides he will have her. He watches the mollified remnant of the pout turn to an expression of greed and knows. He can see it as clearly as he sees them now: Kanryuu taking her into his lap and sliding the dress from her shoulders. Kanryuu's mouth pressing against her bare skin as her eyes fall half closed, heavy-lidded from enjoyment. The twitch of Kanryuu's hand, beckoning him closer; the way Kanryuu will dig his fingers into her slender thighs, goading her into parting them, in a silent demand that Aoshi —

Something in his stomach tightens at the thought of it. He feels every muscle in his body tense.

"Perfect," Kanryuu purrs.

For her sake, Aoshi wants to withdraw his consent to the assignation. It would spare her Kanryuu's petty slights and insidious cruelties.

Then he watches Kanryuu run his fingers along her braid. If he withdraws, Kanryuu will still hire her, will still pay her virgin price and whatever extra fee the Dowayne of Orchis House concocts for stealing a fresh new adept away from her formal debut. For the opportunity to wound someone, if he feels spurned; for pride, if nothing else.

And she will spend her first assignation untouched and unadmired at best. He knows Kanryuu, knows that women leaving his household do so insulted, neglected, and made to feel worthless. For a moment he thinks of a Balm adept who withdrew her consent halfway through dinner, fleeing on foot through the gate, near tears.

"Does she please you, Aoshi?"

"If you wish," he says, and Misao smiles, and he wishes Kanryuu Takeda weren't so damnably useful.

* * *

The Dowayne dismisses the other adepts with a wave of her hand. Her Second withdraws blank paper — the formal vellum on which contractse are written, embossed at the top with the sigil of Orchis House — and a long, stiff pen from a coffer and looks to the Dowayne.

"I wish to remove her from the premises," Kanryuu says, abruptly. "If you've a fete planned for her debut, I will bring her back to attend, but otherwise I wish her to be all mine for the next few days."

The Dowayne's eyes narrow for a moment. "You will need to be more specific, messire Takeda."

Kanryuu tilts his head, considering, before he decides. "Tonight and tomorrow, and tomorrow night as well. I'll bring her back the following morn."

A shorter contract than his. Aoshi closes his eyes a moment and lets out a slow, silent breath.

The Dowayne writes down several figures on another scrap of parchment. "The top is the standard for an assignation of this duration. The center is her virgin price. The bottom is a surcharge for contracting before her formal debut." A pause, as she draws a line and adds final number. "And the total. Is this agreeable to you?"

Aoshi does not look. He sees Kanryuu's brows twitch.

"Do you think to dissuade or intimidate me with such prices?" The merchant bares his teeth in a smile. "You can't, you know. I accept."

"Then we will draw up the contract," the Dowayne says.

Aoshi gathers himself, and with all the dignity and hauteur an adept of Dahlia house can muster, informs Kanryuu that he will wait in the entrance hall.

* * *

It is, he thinks, a particular irony that the children of Orchis House seem drawn to a man who was never like them, even in his youth, and couldn't be if he tried. He did not smile easily as a child and knows too much now to do so at will.

And yet, just as Misao had been drawn to his presence, the fosterlings and adepts's children seek him.

Not one of them is shy or even meek. No one bound for Alyssum or Valerian, then. The most retiring of them is a tiny thing — surely no older than five or six — who immediately flings her arms around his knee and says she wants him to stay in Orchis forever.

Then she looks up at him, violet eyes luminous, and asks, "You will, won't you?"

At this, the other children apparently guess that there is no superceding this forward child's grasp on his attention without attracting attention from their minders. They drift away, seeking out other entertainment.

Heliotrope, he thinks, though she's pale and delicate enough for Cereus. "I'm of Dahlia," he tells her.

Her face falls.

So he adds, "I'll stay for now. Your name?"

"Mierette." She looks at him intently and he is certain the Dowayne of Heliotrope would be a fool not to buy her marque. "What's your name, messire?"

"Aoshi Shinomori no Dahlia." He reaches down to disentangle her arms from his knee. She clings to his hands, which he permits for only a moment. "Do you have no duties, Mierette?"

"No," she says.

He raises an eyebrow.

"Well, I'd rather talk to you than —"

He hears a burst of startled laughter — Kanryuu's laughter, for once without an edge to it — and turns to see Kanryuu and Misao moving toward him. Kanryuu has placed a possessive hand at Misao's shoulder. Misao, for her part, doesn't seem to register that it's a gesture of ownership.

"Mierette," Misao says. "Go tell Masukami I'll be back in a few days and the accents are purple."

"Is this about the wager?"

Wagering amongst the adepts. Wagering amongst the adepts and mentioning it in front of a patron. Another adept of Dahlia might have been mortified, though none would ever show it. Aoshi looks down at Mierette to hide any amusement in his eyes.

"No, it's about the time she stole all the laundry from Night's Doorstep and wore it on her head," Misao says, rolling her eyes. "Go now and I won't tell Sebastien you were shirking your chores."

Mierette bobs a curtsey at them, more quaint than proper, and flees with a smile that seems shy.

"She'll break hearts," Kanryuu says.

No, she'll have her heart broken again and again. Or will at least learn to give every appearance of it. But Aoshi has no reason to tell Kanryuu so, and he suspects Misao already knows. So he says nothing.

* * *

Kanryuu keeps his own liveried carriage, despite the fact that he has no noble house, no family worth mentioning, nor even a patron anyone knows about. Why exactly he chose the motif of a burning spider's web, Aoshi has never been sure. It isn't the logo of his lucrative shipping company (three white birds in flight, one with a fish in its beak).

A private joke, perhaps, or some piece of personal symbolism. Perhaps an attempt to intimidate; the same design adorns the gates of Kanryuu's house in the City of Elua, and Aoshi cannot view those gates without repressing a shudder.

Misao traces the pad of one finger along the design, gleaming gold on a background of pure white. The entire coach is white — Kanryuu's favorite color.

"Why is the spider web on fire?"

"Don't touch that," Kanryuu snaps. "It's enough work having the mud cleaned off all the time."

"Then maybe you should have it painted another color. Brown might not show dirt as badly."

If such display were in his nature, Aoshi would pinch the bridge of his nose and groan. As it is, he closes his eyes for a moment.

But Kanryuu only casts an acerbic look in her direction before sniffing and gesturing to his servant. The man, wearing spotless white gloves, opens the carriage door. Kanryuu enters first, then Aoshi helps Misao in.

And wonders why Kanryuu didn't seek to punish her for insolence. Was he mindful of what he'd paid, and how protective the Night Court is of its adepts — especially its fledgling virgins? Was he simply unwilling to mistreat an adept too badly in her own House? Charmed against all odds by Misao's irreverent gaiety?

None of the explanations satisfy. And if Kanryuu is already straying from the predictable script... Aoshi reviews his contingency plans. He's six and twenty; easily of an age to retire from Dahlia's service and begin his own salon. He'd planned to wait another four years, planned to save enough capital to purchase the marques of the other adepts he might need for their reach.

There is a bottle of ether hidden beneath a floorboard in a little-used servant's stair. Aoshi can slip the lock to Kanryuu's study, or perhaps simply take Kanryuu's keys. There will be information there; he'll have to use it swiftly and hope to sway the next adept to strike Kanryuu's fancy if he wants more from this source.

There will be others, though. Most likely by dint of demeanor, Aoshi is popular with high-born Camaelines, and high-born Camaelines control at least a part of the army, though never the whole. He's popular with the Azzallese, too, and with the Kushelines who do not visit Valerian exclusively.

And then Misao draws the curtain and wrenches open the carriage window. She basks in the sunshine, yellowed ivory skin turned a warmer, healthier shade by a shaft of sunlight. It catches her hair, turns the careless arrangement of dark locks into a shining fall of blue and black. Her mouth looks pinker, lips full and cheekbones delicate, light eyes less shadowed.

Kanryuu pulls her just a little closer to him. She allows it, curling up against his side, pulling one foot onto the carriage seat. She's still barefoot. She smiles at the look he gives her dusty toes, then turns to look out the window. Kanryuu strokes his hand along her braid and Misao's smile turns sleepy.

* * *

Computer is a total brick so updates to this will be spotty like spotty things. Also, sadly, this version is likely going to be censored at least a little because oh hello FFN has, like rules re: explicit content. (Ridiculous!)

This is pretty much the product of my listening to Kushiel's Legacy audiobooks all the time at work. I'd apologize for this, but I'm not really sorry. Just hoping I can make it into something that won't suck.

For the curious, Kenshin, Sano, and Kaoru are around. (A roving L'Agnacite, an Azzallese, and a Camaeline heiress, respectively.) Oh, and so is Megumi, and she is totally not an adept of Balm House. (That is a lie.) I don't know if Aoshi will ever meet them, but they're around.


End file.
